


The Angel of Death and the children he reaps

by Theshycreeper



Series: Old songs with long dead notes [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Author Is Sleep Deprived, Baby Toby Smith | Tubbo, Baby TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Bird Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Brotherly Love, Brothers, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Complicated Relationships, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Issues, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Good Parent Wilbur Soot, Good Sibling Wilbur Soot, Good Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Toby Smith | Tubbo, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Wilbur Soot, Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Insane Wilbur Soot, Kid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Kid Wilbur Soot, Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, No Sex, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Older Siblings Wilber Soot and Technoblade, Oneshot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Parent-Child Relationship, Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Phil is a Bad Dad, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Protective Wilbur Soot, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ending, Sad Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), The Author Regrets Nothing, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo and Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Toby Smith | Tubbo and Wilbur Soot are Siblings, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), dadbur, they're brothers your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theshycreeper/pseuds/Theshycreeper
Summary: The Angel of Death had five children, each entered his life in a different way and each left in a different way.Phil's journey in gaining and losing children. A father scourned by the actions of others and himself.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Sleepy Bois Inc - Relationship, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Old songs with long dead notes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102001
Comments: 18
Kudos: 299
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	The Angel of Death and the children he reaps

**Author's Note:**

> IDK take this garbage that took too long to make but i did cause i wanted to, dont expect 100& perfect, professional grammar

The Angel of Death had five children. The Angel of Death was a father alone, and each child came into his life in a different way.

The first of five were two, a pair of twins not bonded by blood but by fate itself. Fates hands deeming them a pair, holding them together, then tossing them to the wayside, as it always would to those who dared to play with it. 

The children had held each other close as The Angel’s cold, icy blue and piercing eyes stared down impassively. 

The Angel had come across them by chance, a simple misdirection on the way home, a simple catching of the eye from metal glinting in the sun. 

The pair weren’t quite human, much like himself.  
The bulkier of the pair stands in front of the other, tusked bared and snorting, a swine like tail flicking behind him and long animalistic ears reared back, hoofed feet firmly planted and digging into the soil.  
The other, a smaller brunette, hovered fearfully at their twins back, a glinting silver blade clutched tightly in defense. Small, barely noticeable fangs bared and animalistic ears, though more human than their twins, pinned back.

The pair were shadowed by The Angel’s wings, stretched wide at his sides, blocking any attempt at exit as if his stature over the young children wasn’t enough. A predator much larger then them, one so caring yet so willing to reign fury on its prey at a whim. 

To this day The Angel isn’t sure why he decided to provide shelter for the children, Phil, isn’t sure why, nor is he sure if he regrets it, sometimes he thinks he does.

Perhaps something in the taller’s eyes as he stood in defense, a rolling, burning fire, one so bright he could akin it to a phoenix’s light. A being so unwilling to die. 

Perhaps it was something in the smaller, the spark there despite the fear, a lit match in a turning sea, fire roaring beneath the waves despite all logical sense. Something destructive laying at the bottom of that ocean, beneath the rolling waves, that if that match were to touch, would dry the ocean of its contents in a roaring fire. 

Technoblade and Wilbur soot, a pair of twins that could so easily burn the world down, if they so choose. 

Despite The Angel’s impassive nature towards most things, often only feeling intrigue and inconsistent care, over the span of time he found himself loving the children. More than he had loved anything before.

The fate bound twins had much to offer. The older of two minuets with a burning fire like a phoenix in his eyes had a draw to death. Speaking of voices and a god of blood’s utterance to him.  
The younger who, despite the calm of the fire in the ocean, also held that spark, spoke words of gold on a silver coated tongue. His words were taken as law and he could charm whoever he pleased. He sang the songs of a siren, a natural born leader meant to guide. 

However, The Angel of Death despite loving both, made his choice.

The Angel of Death has always had a favor for those forged in blood.

So, he chose, and the younger was left to rot till the songs died and his silver tongue was nothing but rotted, long dead flesh. 

The third child came as the twins were just reaching for their pre-teens. The third, a platinum blond haired child with eyes a sea of crystal blue, was but a baby, not even a year old.  
The baby was found by The Angel’s siren voiced child, Wilbur, the ever-perceptive, hearing the cries and being beckoned by their call as his twin and father ignored them.

The wandering off caught the attention of the younger’s twin, and despite the divide that would only worsen with time by their father’s choice, Techno was still tugged by fate to follow his twin of which he was intertwined. 

The more animalistic of the twins followed behind the brunette, letting his eyes land of what his twin seemed transfixed by. 

A small, pitiful thing, laid on the dirt roadside covered in a layer of grime and was wailing in a desperate plea for life at so young. A story of a child that started with struggle and would follow that theme through their life. 

Before the older could speak the younger was already leaning down, scooping the pitiful thing in his arms and making shushing, calming sounds at it.  
Much like many others who had heard his brothers lulling words, the little one fell to the spell, wailing stopping and peering up with bright blue, meeting warm brown and a smile. 

The Angel approached the scene, watching as Wilbur, coddled the little one, seeming entranced.

It would seem fate has once again had taken her aged hands and drawn forces together, binding them and letting others observe what may come from such a development  
The little one was brought home, cleaned and clothed, The Siren refusing to leave the little one alone all the while.  
It was only appropriate that he was the one to name the child, with a smile.

“Tommy”

The little one clung to The Siren, The Siren raising him more and more in turn, acting as a father long before his own son was born. However, the love the younger provided The Siren, provided Wilbur, did little to stop his decay in the end.

Did nothing to stop the spiral down, choking on his own rotten tongue, biting down on his lips hard with a venom that bled from his open wounds, replacing blood, that sought to spill onto and harm others. The lit match sinking ever further to the oceans floor.

Did nothing to stop The Angel of Death's arrival, nothing to stop the broken pleas of a now child turned broken man, to The Angel to do his job, to Phil, to do his job.

And nothing to stop the sword that ran through his body with an angel’s agony. Grinning face and dulled grey eyes clasping his fathers back in their first embrace in years, tears soaking into a bloodstained coat and charred feathers fluttering in the air, in a scene Wilbur could only call, poetic, beautiful. 

But now, cupping that same platinum blond child’s face with ethereal hands while tears pour down from now greyed eyes, once a bright blue, aged and damaged by time, that burn his form.  
He can’t help but smile, mutter softly the same way he did all those years ago and weep. Weep for the brother he raised, a fire left unattended and abandoned by an angel and beaten down by those who were supposed to care, including himself. Though, he wouldn’t remember by morning, Tommy would.

The fourth child came as the third, Tommy, was still young, eye’s bright with an innocence that is prone to die so quickly.

The fourth came as the brunette siren, Wilbur, was still breathing, lungs asthmatic yet still taking in new air every day, with a fire still lit. 

The fourth came as the eldest, Techno, was gaining a new title, the title of “The Blood God” much to the voices joy and others adherence, a title of a child worthy to stand side by side with The Angel of death.  
A title earned at the ripe age of fourteen and a place next to their father, where Techno would remain till his end.

The fourth, was found on the roadside in a small cardboard box. The box was plain, a simple thing with no writing and much like all instances before, the child was once again, found by fate’s chance. 

As equally plain as the box appeared, seemingly, so did the child. A small thing, dressed in an oversized green nightshirt, wet from rain and peering blue crystal eyes that he was able to tell already, held a stirring potential for chaos like his youngest, with brown hair. 

The Angel had found the child while walking along a path with his children, letting the banter between the blond and brunette remain background noise with The Blood God strolling at his side silently, comfortable to walk by his father and listen to his brothers’ banter. 

The semblance of peace was broken at the loud, shrill questioning of his youngest, voice piercing and boisterous as always.  
The Angel turns to watch his youngest pull on his siren voiced child’s sweater sleeve and pull him along to a simple looking box, his eldest looks up at him and shrugs, following his brothers without a word. 

The Angel of Death had let out a sigh at the children’s antics, and followed resigned, to see what his youngest had found now and deemed so important.

The Angel was not surprised by much but he certainly wasn’t expecting a small child with crystalline blue eyes much like his youngest, to poke it’s head out of a box. 

He could already tell that the little one was bound to them as his youngest’s eye’s gleamed and held the other boy close, pulling him out of the box with a laugh the smaller soon copied, and his twins’ eyes staring down, both shining with an identical fire. 

The Angel of Death had let out a sigh, and the fourth child came home with them. His youngest immediately attached to the smaller, surprisingly older, brunette, blue eyed bee obsessed boy, Tubbo.

The pair stayed close at all times, a bond so strong and so immediate he could liken to his twins, once. And were nurtured by his oldest siren voiced brunette through the years. The two would remain that way despite moments of betrayal and loss, a grinning man’s strings pulling it taught and threatening to cut one off, and that is how they would die. 

The fifth child came the latest, past the betrayals, past the wilting voice and bloodied corpse of The Siren, past the scorning of his blond-haired fiery child and the bee obsessed brunette, and past The Blood God’s spill, now marked by a crater that reaches the veil of the void. Once, dreams of a place free from the strings of a grinning man, now a simple relic of what was never meant to be. A lesson. 

The Angel had been intrigued in the child, one of a mixed breed, a hybrid with unknown origin for one half and far from human. A child with a fractured mind, a scrawl of words on the paper of his memory, material thin and holes easily burned through by the lighter of a smiling masked man. 

A writer who did his best to document all he saw, only to wind up with draft, after draft, after draft. The story never seeming to cleanly fit together with any sense of cohesion.

The Angel saw potential in the writer, and The Blood God, despite unwilling to admit, heart still scorned by the youngest found his presence to have a draw to it. So, when The Writer was curled small in his bunker with panic, and a grin cast in shadow looming over him. It was only natural the angel followed fate’s pull. 

The writer was quick to follow The Angel despite what he could do and had done, feeling protected by the shroud of dark feathers and the shadows they casted. The Writer smiled warm with stressed lines across his face, at The Angel of Death whose cold hand was clapped on the child’s shoulder, comfortable despite the crimson trail and dark feathers that followed in The Angel’s wake.

The Angel’s fifth child acclimated quickly, earning the liking of The Blood God early and sitting comfortably in The Angel’s favor.  
The Writer was a soft-spoken voice with a belief in people and a hatred for the side’s individuals chose in times of strife. Wishing people to have the same belief and care for others they held dear as he did. The label of a traitorous thing laying heavy on his shoulders and his head containing a fractured mind lolling forward with its pressure.

If only it were that easy, Ranboo would mutter during late nights, vision a blur between snow covered ground and dark wood, to the dark encapsulation of cold, dark obsidian walls and the hum of a grinning voice with a smile scrawled on the page of his book, his memory.

The Angel of Death had five children.

He now has two.

Phil watches with a smile, Artic winds blowing through his feathers and shading his skin a cherry red from its chill. Phil’s lapis blue eyes crinkle at the edges as he laughs at the scene before him.

Ranboo lets out another broken off laugh as Techno’s pack of dogs’ swarms him, pushing at the confines of the structure and being pushed out the door, nipping hungrily at the steak in his hand. Technoblade stumbles as the mass of dogs push against his heels in their attempt to swarm the younger hybrid, lips curved up in a scratchy laugh around his tusks. 

Ranboo lands hard in the snow, armor shielding him from the solidified water as the dogs fully trample him, scarfing up the steak and sticking their snouts into every pocket he has looking for more. 

“WHY DO YOU STILL HAVE THIS MANY DOGS!?” 

“For war!” Techno says, taking a steak out of his inventory and throwing it, still laughing as the dogs quickly pounce on it, tearing it into shreds. 

“What—augh” The younger gets cut off as a dog lands particularly hard on his stomach making him let out a wheezing laugh, Techno laughing along with the sight.

Phil lets out a content sigh and turns away, walking back into the house. He rolls his shoulders, wings fluttering as he sits down in the chair by the now lit furnace, leaving him content to bask in the warmth while his sons deal with his eldest’s “war hounds”. 

If he doesn’t listen too closely to the noise outside he can almost imagine the sound of Wilbur strumming his guitar, trying to sing only to be interrupted by Tommy’s “rapping”.  
If he doesn't focus much on what the sound is, he can imagine Techno hesitantly joining in to act as the beat for Tommy, letting out scratchy “bahs” all while Tubbo laughs and then randomly breaks into a different song himself.  
If he lets the space between the two boys fill with noise from a time past, he can hear Wilbur gritting his teeth with young fangs and a half-hearted growl as all of his brothers completely ignore him as he yells out in irritation, only to stop trying and simply watch with a smile, laughing loudly and hunching when they all glare at him when he says he "doesn’t do lyrics" as Tommy passed the “microphone”, stick, to him. 

If Phil imagines hard enough Ranboo is there too, smiling in awkward embarrassment as he tries to sing too. But it Is nothing more than a memory, one that is glorified and extended in his mind. A memory that makes it easier to believe they were ever a truly stable, happy family. 

He sighs and leans his head back against the chair, charred dark feathers twitching. He may be the angel of death, impassive and righteous in all its fury, hailing blood and chaos at his choosing, yet caring enough to cradle one in their life and last moments. An impassive being who can obtain and discard things at any amount of scorn.

However, among all these facts one reigns to be undeniable.

The sound of shrill, but joyful yelling he hears outside as Ranboo runs from the pack of dogs into the nearby windows view, Techno behind them, makes tears prick in the corners of his vision.

He grips the chair handles with long bloodied hands and lets out a stuttering sigh.

The one undeniable fact about The Angel of Death, pitiful by nature yet hidden by title, like most creatures of grandeur.  
No matter the reason, the time or the how. No matter if it was his own doing or fate’s, one thing will always be true about him, the one who brings death, The failed father, Phil.

The Angel of Death, mourns.

**Author's Note:**

> That was that garbage, thanks for reading.


End file.
